


tenderness

by falsettodrop



Category: Clueless (1995)
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Nerves, Pre-Final Scene, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsettodrop/pseuds/falsettodrop
Summary: “Josh,” Cher says, feeling vaguely as if she’s about to upchuck cherry tomatoes. “What are we doing?”Josh blinks, a forkful of salad stuffed in his mouth. “Having dinner?”
Relationships: Cher Horowitz/Josh Lucas
Comments: 24
Kudos: 125
Collections: We Die Like Fen 4: We Lived to Die Afen, falsettodrop's Exchange Fic





	tenderness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cricket_aria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cricket_aria/gifts).



> Thank you for prompting Clueless for this exchange! I’ve wanted to write these two for _ages_ and I’m happy I finally got the chance to, though grasping Cher’s voice took a bit of thought. Hopefully I get to write more about them in the future.
> 
> Title from [Tenderness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqJR7lhsHYQ&t=2s) by General Public. In the link is the greatest end-credits song and kiss in cinematic history. Yes, it’s true; I don’t make the rules.

Cher’s a romantic, which comes as a surprise to precisely no one, least of all Josh.

“You don’t say?” says Josh, sounding amused, when she informs him of this. He’s half-asleep, leaning against the doorframe of her bathroom as she finishes her nighttime routine, and they kissed for the first time approximately four hours and thirty minutes ago.

“I am,” she says, pinning back her hair. They’ve been up all night fixing (what was admittedly her screw-up on) Daddy’s case, and she’s going to have to apply a thick layer of eye cream if she wants to look even remotely presentable tomorrow. “So don’t think that just because I’m, y’know”— _in love with you_ , she does not say—“that I don’t want to be taken on a proper first date.” 

“Cher,” Josh says, and at first she’s terrified he’s going to make her clarify what _y’know_ is, but then he says: “I want to take you on a date.” She catches his eye in the mirror as she secures the final hair clip, and he moves in, a light hand settling on her lower back. Her stomach has flutters, which she used to think only existed in those tearjerker romance movies, and it affirms to her that when it comes to him, she is _weak_. He’s so close that he’s whispering in her ear when he tells her, “I want to take you on all the dates.”

It’s grown quiet. All Cher can hear are the sounds outside her window, half-cracked open, the wind blowing swiftly amongst the tree leaves. “All of them?”

“Mm,” he mumbles. His nose nudges strands of her hair, and she can feel his warmth through her sleep shirt. _One more kiss_ , she pleads to him, already dazed and warm and heady from nothing at all, and then—

He pinches her hip, and she yelps.

“ _Josh_!” She’s giggling; she can’t possibly contain it. He’s won many an argument by using that ticklish spot against her. He does it again, and she yell-laughs, “Ow, Josh, stop it!” 

He’s grinning, which means she’s grinning too, and then they’re both standing there, smiling at each other like total dopes. “Okay, okay,” he relents, hesitating before he kisses her temple and retreats to his place at the door.

Cher used to believe that romance should be like those age-old black and white films, where the studs are charming and chivalrous, and the ladies are beautiful and poised. A part of her still believes in that type of romance, if she’s being completely upfront. With Josh, though—while the entire situation screamed of romance in a star-crossed lovers sort of way—there was nothing ‘chivalrous’ or ‘poised’ about how they’d acted toward each other over the past few years. They’d nagged, and yelled, and sniped. And yet, here they were: him in her bedroom, things quite different this time around. He hadn’t been in her room for months. She isn’t completely sure when they stopped doing that, but it’s suddenly very clear _why_ he stopped slipping in to annoy her; neutral territory was easier, and there were no tempting beds to turn moments awkward, even if she’d been mostly oblivious to her feelings up until the past week.

It doesn’t feel awkward, though, looking at him in her doorway, watching him watch her. It feels like they’ve done this a hundred times, and they’ll do it for a hundred more.

“I should go to bed,” Josh tells her, regrettably, when they’re stand-still for a few seconds. Then, softly, “Goodnight, Cher.”

He’s already in the midst of leaving when she teases, “No goodnight kiss?”

“Not before the first date,” he calls, already halfway out the room.

“Well, we already fucked that one up,” Cher calls back, louder, but she’s smiling as she says it. He doesn’t reply, but she takes comfort in the fact that he heard it, and that he’s probably smiling, too.

* * *

Dionne takes a full twenty minutes to bask in the utter hilarity of the knowledge that Cher is now dating Josh, of all people. At least, that’s what Cher thinks this is—that’s what going on a date means, right? They’re… dating, now? She thinks they are. She _hopes_ they are.

Which cues Cher’s descent into relationship meltdown, wherein Dionne attempts to screw her head back on, and fails.

“God, Cher, you’re giving me a headache,” Dionne whines. “Just ask him!”

Cher gasps. “Dee, I can’t just _ask_.” Did she hit her head and forget that there are rules for dating? She’s been in a relationship for far too long. “ _He_ needs to ask _me_.”

“Yeah, but Josh is in college,” Dionne reminds her. “Isn’t it different there, or something? Do they even ask anymore?”

The truth is that Cher had no clue. She talked a big game about wanting to date a man, someone mature and secure in himself, but in actuality, she had no idea what it was like to date a college boy—in fact, she didn’t know what it was like to date _any_ one. She wasn’t just a sex-virgin; she was a relationship-virgin, too—and she hated admitting to even a little inadequacy in any aspects of her personality, so it was a difficult to share such a thing, thank you very much.

It’s true: Cher had never been in a real relationship. She’d been courted, of course, and rejected them all, of _course_ , and had even been party to the occasional PG-13 hook-up, but... nothing ever serious. Nothing ever worth turning into more.

And this—this was _Josh_.

Cher gets off the phone with Dionne, assuring her she’s fine. She is, obviously! Unfortunately, she proceeds to spend the remainder of the afternoon _not_ being fine. She wigs out.

Eventually, she’s left with nothing but her thoughts, and is faced with all the terrible, horrid ways this could end up going.

First, she’s never been with anyone before, dating or otherwise, so she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Second, if she and Josh broke up, she’d have to see him forever. For the rest of her life. As Daddy had said: you don’t divorce children, you divorce wives. Josh loved her father as if he was his own, and vice versa. If they broke up, she’d be devastated, forced to see him and reminded of her broken heart until the end of time. And third, and probably most importantly: Daddy is going to _freak_. Josh is, technically, her step-brother. Ex, but step-brother nonetheless!

Overall: she’d been an idiot. It was as if she’d been drugged last night, lovesick and reckless, when they’d kissed. The kiss had been magnificent, greater than she could’ve ever predicted it to be, but when she’d realized how she felt about him, the biggest problem had been him wanting her back. And now that he does—probably—want her back, a whole other set of problems arose. How on earth was any of this supposed work itself out?

Cher is quiet when Josh returns home for dinner that evening. He suggests eating in front of the TV, and she says okay, even though she hates doing that and she’s wearing freaking _cashmere_ , for crying out loud, and if something spills on it she will flip a lid. Before she knows it, they’re halfway through an episode of _The Real World_ , and Josh is more riveted than she is. Something is deeply wrong with this development, so she gathers her courage to approach the subject with him.

“Josh,” Cher says, feeling vaguely as if she’s about to upchuck cherry tomatoes. “What are we doing?”

Josh blinks, a forkful of salad stuffed in his mouth. “Having dinner?” he replies, mouth full.

“No,” Cher says, and places her plate on the coffee table with careful precision. Then, she gestures between them. “I mean, what are _we_ doing.”

Josh swallows his bite, then purses his lips, like he’s stifling a smile. “ _Eating_ dinner?”

“Fine, smart ass,” she snarks, crossing her arms. Normally she’d be part-charmed, part-annoyed by his sarcasm, but at this moment all she feels is an overwhelming sense of frustration over the entire hoopla.

Josh, sensing this, puts his half-finished plate aside as well. “Cher, what do you want?”

She shrugs, arms still crossed, all false nonchalance. “What do _you_ want?”

“Asked you first,” Josh says quickly, in habit.

Which is so not fair, so she punches his arm. “Hey, technically _I_ asked first!”

Josh catches her raised hand in his, and this, more than anything, calms her: the feeling of his fingers between hers, the smooth skin of his palms, the heat of him warming her. “What’s going on?” he tries instead, patient and kind and much too nice than what she deserves for having all these second thoughts.

She swallows. “Well, last night we were all hyped up on hormones—”

“Oh, is that what it was?” Josh cuts in, finding this hysterical for some reason.

“Ugh, what _ever_ ,” she huffs, embarrassed but plunging through nonetheless. “I was thinking today about how, like, what if this ends badly?” Her voice turns higher, and Josh sits straighter, noting panic looming in the distance. “And what’s Daddy going to say when he finds out? He’ll go _ballistic_ on us.”

Josh winces. “Well, I figured—”

She tightens her grip on his hand, heart speeding up. “I’ve never dated anyone before, either. Not really. What if I’m a wretched girlfriend?”

His free hand goes to her face, and he brushes her hair behind her ears. Taking her chin between his fingers to make sure she’s looking at him, he says, tone gentle, “You’re perfect.”

She’s not, she knows she’s not, but her eyes still go a little foggy, like she might cry if he repeats it.

Because he’s Josh and he has weird psychic powers, his hands go to her arms, rubbing in soothing motions. It’s something Daddy still does with her when she’s having an awful day, and it helps a lot, her breathing evening out. She hadn’t even realized she was breathing irregularly to begin with. 

Josh sighs. “And I’ve always gotten the feeling that dad knows.”

“That doesn’t mean he thought it would happen,” Cher points out, “or even approve!”

“Alright, alright,” Josh says, then puts his hands on her shoulders. He shakes his head at her, as if to say: _what am I going to do with you?_ “Cher, you’ve got to stop worrying.”

“I can’t help it,” she says, in a small voice. 

“We’ll come up with a plan,” Josh soothes, and there’s a lump forming in her throat just thinking about how good he is with her. “We’ll tell him together. He loves you. He wants you to be happy. And, well, he likes me, too.”

“Oh, shut up,” Cher mumbles. “He loves you.”

Josh shrugs, but Cher can tell there are some underlying insecurities at play there, which she’ll have to address at a later point. “I’m just saying, it’ll be fine.”

She wonders, though. “How can you be so sure?” 

He swallows, eyes skirting over her face, her hair. “Because it’s us.”

Her breath catches in her throat. Josh and his damn lines.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, arm snaking around her waist and pulling her in.

She goes easily, and thinks he’s about to kiss her, head tilting in and to the side. Right before he does, when he’s a hair’s length away, she murmurs, “I thought you weren’t going to kiss me again before the first date.”

His breath is on her lips when he laughs. He smells like roasted garden vegetables. In response, all he says is, “Really, Cher?”

And pulls her flush against him. She lets him, heart racing in her chest at the proximity. 

His lips ghost her cheek, before asking, quietly, “Can I kiss you?”

“You never need to ask,” she replies, because he doesn’t. Not with her.

He leans in, then, for a kiss—catches her lip between both of his, pressing slightly until she relaxes entirely against him, melting like rich, expensive fondue.She’s just about to sink into it for real when he pulls back to breathe, and her mouth falls open before he goes in again, this time with a longer kiss, his tongue at her lips before hers touches his, too, and then she can feel herself lighting up from the inside out, sparks flying behind her closed eyelids, goosebumps raising along her arms. His hands cup her face, and when he ends the kiss, he doesn’t really end it—he pecks her softly again, and again, and again, as if to say: _I don’t want this to end, ever, and I want you to know this._

She’s still catching her breath, forehead pressed against his for stability, as his thumb brushes her cheekbone. His hands are still cupping her face. 

Josh takes a breath, then says, more straight-forward than any boy has ever been with her in her sixteen years of living, “I’d like to be your boyfriend.”

She can’t contain the smile on her face when the words registers. It creeps up on her, the sheer, bright joy, and overcomes her before she can even recognize how she’s feeling and control how that translates to the muscles in her face. Josh doesn’t smile back, not yet, eyes serious and green and unforgettable, reinventing Cher’s definition of romance with the sheer power of a gaze.

“If you’ll have me,” he adds, after a moment’s silence. To make matters worse, he turns that gorgeous, bashful shade of pink that she loves on him, which totally seals the deal with his adorability. If that even is a word. 

She turns her head into his palm, kissing his hand like she’d kiss his mouth. “Josh,” she says, muffled by it.

“Cher.” Josh’s voice is quiet, soft. He’s kind eyes and awed looks and, really, everything she expected him to be.

“Yes,” Cher replies, laugh bubbling up in her chest. “Yes, yes—”

 _Yes_. As if there’d ever been another answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please let me know. 
> 
> \+ **me, elsewhere** :  
> twitter: [falsettowrites](http://falsettodrop.tumblr.com) | tumblr: [falsettodrop](http://falsettodrop.tumblr.com), [viewsfromthestyx](http://viewsfromthestyx.tumblr.com).


End file.
